And after all MIss, this is France!

Driving over the Howard Frankland Bridge, mind reeling. Listening to my parent's words oscillate cautiously between scaring me and encouraging me. Their concerns were more pungent than the salt air. I'd be deaf, dumb and blind if it wasn't for this cautionary beating though, I haven't a doubt. 

I eat pizza at the airport with my parents. I send out last texts and hand my phone over. The symbol of this makes me start crying enough to shame a baby. I can only guess the combination of leaving my parents and friends and the fear of being alone is what triggered this. The shiny eyes lasted until I went through security, though the gale-force tears stopped after I said good-bye to my parents and got on the shuttle to the terminals. While I was in line for security, they played "Can You Feel the Love Tonight?" over the speakers. I assumed this was a personal message and told God I appreciated it. 

There is a sort of temporary discomfort that is just accepted on flights less than two hours. On my flight to Charlotte, I'm seated next to a man who is nice but becomes enthralled by my trip. After briefly exchanging what we're doing in each location, he prods for more. What am I studying? How long? He's never been to France, he imagines its lovely. Don't you? I tried to indicate I was ready to move on but he was so kind I didn't have the heart to be obvious. Fortunately a lady yelled at a steward who had to check her bag because there wasn't enough room in the fuselage. That distracted both of us. It also reminded me how much I hate people. This lady had no  reason to be a bitch more than the sun coming up that day. The steward looked like Gerald Ford and the lady was wearing leopard boots. 

Charlotte looks like a nice place to live from the sky.

The flight to Paris I had two seats all to my ones-y. The guy who initially sat down next to me was everything I pictured a Parisian man to be. He was tall, dark hair, pale, dressed nicely and seemed a bit annoyed. I greeted him when he sat down and he was very kind, despite his seeming perturbation. He informed me, not to my offense, that he likes to sleep so he is going to try to find two empty seats. I was thrilled. Turns out three other girls from my trip were catching the same connecting flight and sitting in my row. Cool. Now I'd have help finding the rest of the group when I got there. I took out my war zone journalism book and would be reading that for the better part of the next 7 hours. 

Operation Scoli-Sleeper

During the thick of the description of the warring in Southern Sudan, my eyes grow heavy. I lean against the window, but my hip jabs into the arm rest. I move the arm rest and my butt starts to slide on the leather into the next seat. I try lying down- I don't fit. My rigid back prevents me from doing anything that doesn't nearly break my neck. Even with the two seats. I finally find this weird reclined pose that makes me look like I'm on my death bed. I eat my sourpatch watermelons resentfully until I nod off. 

I wake up when one of the Rorschach twins in front of me reclines his seat into my face. Hearing my indiscernible grunt, he mutters something back in French. They were nice, but boy did they made me appreciate my attractive boyfriend. I was stuck in there with them. 

After what seriously felt like a year, we began our descent. I glue my face to the window, despite its startlingly chilly surface. It's cloudy, and as it turns out the airport isn't actually near anything very interesting to look at. I exit the plane and officially have made plane friends- Lindsey, Lauren and other Katie. So that's something. 

I exhale after all of my baggage surfaces from the tapis roulant. We wait for an hour, before we realize we're waiting at the wrong terminal and run across the airport to intercept the group flight. We make it. My hands were sacrificed to the heavy luggage gods for the good of the tribe. 

People in Paris are shitty drivers. Really shitty. We drove a giant bus down multiple alleys. We almost killed 3 bikers. Pedestrians need to watch the fuck out. We finally get to the hotel. It's very pretty. I have a bathroom and a kitchen and a bed/living room (all are TINY.) Everything in Paris is tiny. Well, not tiny, but squished. Everything in Paris is squished together. It makes it look very quaint and lovely. Also, lots of graffiti. The kids here are rogue with their wine, cigarettes and free spirits. They all look tortured and like they just hear a mildlyentertaining joke. Smirk, eyes down.

I nap.

We did a short walking tour after moving in around our local neighborhood. Its very beautiful and easy to maneuver. Besides the cars. WATCH OUT. I see a man with a curly mustache holding a child with a beret holding a baguette. My day is made.

For dinner, I ate I cheese and chicken crepe and a coke. 6 euros. Not terrible. It was a French quesadilla. Pretty tasty. Then a couple of the girls and I go to the grocer next door and buy a few things for the morning. I got a baguette, nutella, strawberries, and tea. Because I'm here. 

I gotta fix this jet lag. I'm dying. A demain!

Listen to "Can You Feel the Love Tonight?" by Elton John

or Flash Dance, as my hotel lobby just suggested. Ha.